


the ghost of you (is close to me)

by TheLoyalMouse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (oh surprise), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, But you do you, Depression, Fix-It of Sorts, Homelessness, It's not underage, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, Thorki - Freeform, anyway, but the boy's age is not mentioned, in my mind he's around 17 when this whole story starts and 18 - 19 in the end, loki has a foul mouth, non-consensual slap, ok loki is pretty young - especially in comparison to 1500 years old thor, so he's basically as old as you choose him to be, tagging it age-gap sounds strange in this context though, thor is not in a good place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoyalMouse/pseuds/TheLoyalMouse
Summary: Sometimes you only realize what someone means to you when it's too late.But what if fate gives you a second chance? Will you take it - or fuck up all over again?





	the ghost of you (is close to me)

**Author's Note:**

> The narrow alley was far off the paths he usually travelled, nestled between a run-down warehouse and the backside of a couple small businesses. Like looming giants the buildings towered over him, the sky above the color of a purpling bruise.

Sleet turned the pavements, adorned with overflowing trash cans, into slippery things. The pungent stench of rotting garbage permeated the air despite the bitter cold.

He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his thick winter coat. The breath left his lips in white puffs and he pulled his shoulders up in the vain attempt to protect the back of his neck from the biting winds. Accustomed to the golden climate of his homeland, he had a low tolerance for the cold. Yet there was something nostalgic about winter. The harsh caress of snowflakes beating his face in silent punishment made him recall gentler touches, sweeter if not warmer.

He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to procure from his memories the lines and curves of his brother’s face, the image so vivid it felt like he could touch the cream-white skin if only he tried. But every time he stretched out his arms, the familiar face seemed to move further and further away.

It was painful, but as with most painful things it also held a beauty so true he could not stay away for too long. Ultimately, the yearning would take hold of him again and soon become too much to bear. Unchanged in its agonizing brilliance after years and years and years.

At first, he had simply denied the truth, for it wasn’t a novelty really, was it? He had mourned the loss of his brother more times than he could count. Many times for things he had done that seemed unforgivable at first - but in the end he would always forgive him. It was not the first time he had thought his brother dead, either. But he had returned to him without fail, until it seemed as if death simply could not touch him.

Until it did.

He had searched for his brother in all the nine realms, had listened for a whisper in the wind, for just an ever-so-small sign that he was still out there.

Nothing.

Eventually, he had come back here. His mortal friends no longer were, nor was the place he used to call home. All that was left, the ghost of a past he no longer belonged to. And how he wished he could turn back time. But in the end he had to accept defeat, and it left him empty and aching in places deep inside he couldn’t quite name, because surely his heart had fallen into pieces long ago.

Somehow he ended up in that alley, to do what he did not know. Living or dying was all the same to him. For what was life or death without anyone who stood by your side to laugh and cry and mourn and ache?

He was ready to leave the wretched place and ignore whatever pull had led his steps to bring him here. This alley had nothing for him. This life had nothing for him. A part of him wished he could just lie down and let himself be covered in eternal snow, and wait for the end of all time. It couldn’t come quick enough.

The movement that caught his eyes was so small it was barely even there. He could have ignored it, telling himself it was nothing but the wind pulling at the flaps of one of the soggy cardboard boxes littering the concrete. But instead, his steps faltered.

Narrowing his eyes, he turned around and went back, deeper into the cavernous heart of the alley, his own heart suddenly thumping against his ribs in a display of something he, with a jolt of shocked surprise, recognized as excitement.

The pull was getting stronger again until it felt like he was being bodily dragged by some invisible leash. It was a strange feeling, not pleasant but not entirely unpleasant either. Somehow familiar, though he could not quite place when in the eons of his life he had ever felt that way before.

There was a small pile of haphazardly stacked boxes he had not noticed up until then. Now that he did, he also realized somebody had taken great care to make it blend into the garbage heaps around it. He frowned. This had to be a shelter of sorts, flimsy and poorly outfited to withstand the constant exposure to the elements as it was.

Having grown up in golden halls with his every wish catered to, he had never experienced a day of bitter poverty in his life. He had seen his fair share of starved children, though, their faces gaunt and their eyes huge and pleading. Skin stretched thin over too-sharp bones. To aid those in need he had tried to the best of his abilities, but not even a king’s treasure vault was vast enough to feed every hungry mouth and bring peace to each tormented soul.

Slowly he lowered himself into a crouch in front of the pile of boxes and lifted a flap to peer inside. For a moment he caught sight of a pale face, angles sharp enough to cut flesh and eyes circled by shadows as dark as bruises.

Those eyes made him draw in a sharp breath. This had to be a cruel joke of fate. Because it couldn’t be what his foolish heart was hoping for. It simply couldn’t.

With a hiss, the shadowy creature scrambled back until it was swallowed up again by darkness.

“I mean you no harm,” he said and raised his hands in a placating manner. His eyes roamed the interior of the cardboard shelter. It was a little more spacious than it looked from the outside, yet it wasn’t big enough for a grown man to even stretch his limbs. “Do you live here?”

“No, asshole, this is actually one of my many holiday homes. What do you think? Of fucking course I live here! And now kindly fuck off and leave me alone!”

That _voice_.

No, it was impossible. Im _possible_. And it sounded so _young_. But he would never forget this specific timbre. It haunted him almost every night, along with the memories of his final - his ultimate - defeat. A healer had once offered to rid him of the dreams that had him waking in the darkness, gasping for breath and drenched in cold sweat. But he couldn’t bring himself to accept the kind proposal. Instead he treasured those memories, clutched them close to his heart, as they were all that he had left. And weren’t painful memories better than no memories at all?

There was shuffling to be heard and the next thing he knew he was staring into a very pale, very furious, too young and yet utterly unmistakable face. “Why are you still here? Did I speak fucking Swahili? Fuck. Off.”

To see him again - alive - after all this time, stole his breath away. His heart ached with so many feelings at once - elation, relief, grief, anger - and for a moment he could but stare.

The features of the boy who wore his brother’s face twisted into an ugly snarl and suddenly surprisingly strong hands were pushing him away, and he found himself sitting in the dirty-grey snow, the icy slush seeping into his garments, drenching them thoroughly.

“Loki,” he whispered in wonder. Then again louder. Firmer. “Loki.”

 

*

 

Raking his fingers through the short bristles of his hair, Thor paced the living room of his New York apartment, nervous excitement intermingling with uneasiness. He could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom, but the boy would not stay locked up there for much longer.

Thor desperately needed to regain some measure of control before he could face him again. He was not ready. Would possibly never be ready.

He forced himself to stop the restless pacing and stood by the window, the sight of the sprawling city, buzzing with energy, doing little to set his mind at ease.

It had not been an easy feat to coax the snarling, hissing creature that looked so much like his dead brother into following him home. The boy had spat every insult known in the nine realms Thor’s way - and then some. But in the end, follow him he had, albeit reluctantly and with obvious distrust.

His eyes had gone wide with disbelief and jealous wonder when they stepped into the blindingly white lobby of the apartment building of whichThor owned the entire topmost floor. It was a look so like and at the same time unlike Loki, it made something in Thor’s stomach tie into knots.

He loved Loki. Had missed Loki more than he could say. And this boy reminded Thor of everything he’d once had and never would have again, and … maybe this had all been a dreadful mistake.

The sound of bare feet on the white marble floor made him realize the shower had stopped running. He turned around - and sucked in a harsh breath.

“Lok--what are you doing?” Only a slight tremor in his voice betrayed the turmoil of feelings inside him at the sight of the naked boy standing in the doorway. Thor could not help but stare, despite knowing how wrong, how unseemly it was.

“What? Isn’t that the reason you brought me here? So I would show you a little _gratitude_?” The last word was spoken with such disdain, the familiarity was almost too much for Thor to bear.

Forcibly, he averted his gaze. Not without noticing the multitude of colorful bruises blooming on the boy’s pale skin, or just how gaunt he really was.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I expect no such thing of you.” And pushed out between clenched teeth. “By the Norns, put some clothes on, will you?”

The expression of wariness was back on the boy’s face. Apparently, Thor _not_ jumping at the opportunity to bed him made him somehow more suspicious than his acquiescence would have.

“You have my fucking things, shithead.”

Thor nodded slowly. Right. He had taken the boy’s clothes, fully intending to have them cleaned for him. But they had turned out to be beyond salvaging.

Stiffly, Thor crossed the room, hesitating slightly when he passed the boy, careful not to touch him as he entered the bedroom. He ignored the siren call of the cardboard box he kept on the bottom shelf of his wardrobe, hidden underneath woollen blankets and stacks of old clothes he no longer wore and had wanted to give away to one charity organization or another, but eventually forgot about it.

He never looked at the box, never touched it, even though his fingers itched to do so. It meant playing with fire, even now. _Particularly_ now.

So he forced his eyes away like he always did and pulled an old pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of the closet. They would be far too big for the boy’s slight frame, but they would have to do for now.

He handed the garments to the boy without sparing him more than a fleeting glance. “Here, use these until I can procure something more suitable.”

The boy muttered something under his breath Thor couldn’t understand - and wasn’t convinced he wanted to anyway - and stalked back into the bathroom, banging the door shut behind him.

Thor took a deep breath. Loki would have laughed and told him that _he_ was the crazy one for taking in a stray, someone he didn’t even know the first thing about.

And just maybe, Thor thought, he wouldn’t have been completely in the wrong.

 

*  *

 

“Do you ever eat anything but red meat?”

Thor turned away from the steaks sizzling in the frying pan. It had been three days since he had agreed to stay with Thor in the apartment, telling him that he was to be his sugar daddy now. Thor had nodded and smiled, having not the slightest idea what the boy was talking about, but being content that he would stay all the same.

“You don’t like meat?” Thor asked surprised, and bit his tongue before he could blurt out something stupid. “I can prepare something else for you.”

The boy stayed silent for a moment, and Thor turned his attention back to the steaks. If the boy wanted something he would tell him. In his experience, pushing almost never tended to achieve the desired results.

“You called me Loki again. Who is he?”

“No one,” Thor said, prodding the steak with the spatula a little too violently, so hot oil splattered over the rim of the pan. “Just somebody I used to know.”

He hoped the boy would take the hint and drop the subject, but of course he had no such luck.

“Do you get off on it?”

“What?” Thor spluttered. He pointedly didn’t turn around. “What in the nine are you talking about?”

He didn’t receive a reply.

When he did turn around, he was alone in the kitchen.

 

*  *  *

 

Days blended into weeks and months. Somehow they fell into a comfortable rhythm with each other. The boy was a surprisingly unobtrusive presence in Thor’s flat. Without having been told to, he had taken up residence in one of the guest rooms.

When he opened his mouth, his words were usually laced with decreasingly venomous obscenities. He was fairly quiet, though, only speaking when prompted by Thor or when he really, desperately needed something.

Half a year had passed when Thor realized he had never asked the boy for his name. In the privacy of his mind, he had taken to calling him Loki, and when the need to address him directly arose, he simply said ‘boy’ (and had to refrain himself from saying ‘brother’ instead, every single time).

It wasn’t always this peaceful. They had arguments. Harsh, vicious fights about everything and nothing.

“I have no fucking clue who you see in me,” he yelled at Thor on one occasion. “But I’m not him. I’m _me!_ Isn’t that fucking good enough?”

Thor’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen, then. He had pulled the stiff, unyielding boy into his arms, and buried his nose in his soft black locks, whispering, “Of course you are. You have always been.”

And he felt bad because he didn’t know who he really was trying to comfort - his dead brother or the boy in front of him.

Things were somewhat strained between them afterwards for a while. But soon enough they eased back into their usual routines, and everything seemed fine.

But deep inside Thor always knew that he was deluding himself. And that it was only a matter of time until everything fell into pieces.

 

*  *  *  *

 

Every weekday, the boy would share a mostly silent breakfast with Thor, take his backpack and leave the apartment, early in the morning. He never told Thor where he went and Thor knew better than to ask. Sometimes he wondered who benefited the most from their particular living arrangement. Even considering that the boy had been living well below the poverty line before meeting him, Thor pondered it was probably him.

Of course he was curious. He wanted to know how the boy spent his time when they were apart. And he worried, too, for the boy often returned home all bruised up, or, once, even sporting an impressive black eye. But he was fiercely independent, and refused to tell Thor who was bothering him.

“I’m not _weak_ ,” he spat. “I can take fucking care of myself.”

Thor knew he could - had always known - but it had taken him until now to understand that some battles needed to be fought alone. And that forcing your aid on someone and expecting them to be thankful for it was no act of kindness, but selfish and hurtful.

He couldn’t help but regret he had only learned this particular lesson when it was too late.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Thor was content with the life he had carved out for himself with the boy. He wouldn’t say he was happy per se, but he was as close to it as he could possibly get, given the circumstances.

Sometimes, he would even forget about the box at the bottom of the wardrobe. The one he had not opened in years, but felt pulled towards all the same.

Maybe that was why it came as such a shock when he entered his bedroom one late afternoon, only to find the boy in front of Thor’s open wardrobe, the box in his hands.

“Put that down!” Thor’s voice was sharp as a whiplash.

It gave him no satisfaction to see the boy flinch and hear the box drop to the floor, its contents clattering onto the marble with a noise that seemed unbecomingly loud in the silence of the room.

For a moment, there was only their harsh breathing to be heard. They had had many arguments, but never had Thor raised his voice quite so violently, been so purposely hurtful.

Eventually, the boy clambered to his feet, his pale blue eyes shining with the threat of tears, but his back held ramrod straight, his whole posture screaming defiance.

“What is all this?” he whispered, pointing at the collection of clothes, weapons and baubles strewn around on the floor. His already pale face was devoid of any colour. He seemed to sway slightly, and there was a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. When Thor didn’t answer, he yelled, “What is this?”

“None of your concern,” Thor snarled. “You had no right--”

“ _I_ had no right? These are _his_ things, aren’t they? They belong to that guy you can’t stop thinking about. The one you want me to replace.” He balled his hands into tight fists. His whole frame was shaking. “When I was living in that cardboard box, I was pretty sure I had hit rock bottom. But, you know, I was wrong. Sleeping rough didn’t fucking do to me what you did. I have no idea who I’m supposed to be anymore. I don’t know who I am. And all that because of some arseh-”

The slap came as much of a shock to Thor as to the boy. He had not even intended to do it. Had only realized it was going to happen, when his palm had already connected with the boy’s cheek. But he refused to feel guilty. Enough was enough.

“You are free to go anytime if you don’t like it here,” he said coldly.

For a moment, there was a look of utter betrayal on the boy’s face. Then it went blank, making the bright red imprints of Thor’s fingers on his left cheek stand out even more.

“Fine.” He gave Thor a wide berth, walking slowly at first, then, once he had reached the threshold, breaking into a run.

Thor stood there, stunned.

Surely the boy would not leave. He had nowhere to go, after all. He would bang some doors, spit profanities and, eventually, calm down - and so would Thor.

Then they could sit down and talk about it.

But when he finally managed to unroot his feet from the marble floor, the boy was gone.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *

 

When the boy didn’t return the morning after their fallout, Thor was worried, but not overly much. First and foremost, he was angry. At the boy for snooping through his things, but primarily at himself. He had lost his temper and slapped the boy. But Thor knew very well that this wasn’t the only reason why the boy had run.

He pushed the disturbing thoughts back into some cobwebbed corner of his mind. The boy would come back. He had to. Thor was confident about it.

This changed when there was still no sign of him in the late afternoon or evening. A small seed of doubt had taken root in Thor. And he started to wonder, why _would_ the boy even want to return to him? Why - after everything?

The second night Thor spent looking for the boy in every public shelter and every soup kitchen. He went to spots the homeless seemed to prefer, but all of it to no avail.

After a whole week, Thor was practically climbing the walls. There was no one else to blame but himself, and he hated it. He hated the bitter words the boy had thrown at him. How deeply right he had been.

It had been a month when Thor found himself standing on the balcony of his apartment, head hanging between slumped shoulders. It had been raining all day. A persistent drizzle, neither warm nor cold, just _there_. Dark clouds hung over the city, almost touching the roofs of the high rises that made up the skyline.

Every now and then he could hear thunder rolling in the distance. A low, rumbling sound that seemed to settle somewhere deep in his chest. His whole body yearned for lightning. Maybe the sharp stab of electricity would rid him of the ghosts of the past - young and old - that kept haunting him. But the sky was dark, and he felt so hollow and empty, he could not even summon so much as a pathetic spark between his fingertips.

Never in his whole life had he felt so alone. He had been told countless times how lucky he was for having survived. He didn’t feel particularly lucky, though. There was no one left he could share this life with. And time … time could be so very, very long.

“If you’re planning to drown yourself, this isn’t really the most effective way, you know?”

Thor’s head shot up at hearing the familiar voice, but when he turned around, he did it slowly, almost fearfully. “You’re back,” he whispered, taking in the dark figure leaning against the door jamb, watching him. Something warm mixed with the rain soaking his face.

A small, almost imperceptible smile. “Did you miss me?”

At that, a sob broke free from his throat. With two steps he crossed the distance between the boy and him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I can’t breathe, you stupid piece of shit!” the boy wheezed fondly and pushed at his shoulders. “Let go of me, you’re getting me all wet.”

“Am I, now?” Thor raised his brow suggestively, and only when the boy blushed furiously did he realize what he had done. Sheepishly, he kneaded the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m sorry. That was … uncalled for.”

With a sigh, the boy stepped away from him. When Thor didn’t move to follow, he sighed again and took him by the hand. “Do I have to spell everything out for you? Come inside, you big oaf. We need to talk.”

Thor closed the balcony door behind him, shutting out the sound of the rain. Then he turned around to face the boy, who was standing in the middle of the living room. It was strange how much more lived-in the whole apartment suddenly felt. As if it had missed the boy just as much as he himself had.

“I’m glad you came back.” He took a deep breath. Secrets and half-truths had driven the boy away. Maybe honesty would convince him to stay.

The boy turned around and disappeared into the bedroom, only to reemerge from it a minute later with a towel he threw in Thor’s general direction.

He snatched it from the air and started to rub his soggy hair. His sweatshirt clung to his body like a second skin, as did his pants, and it was uncomfortable. Yet he felt a little bashful, which was utterly uncharacteristic for him. In the end, he settled with putting the wet towel on the seat of the sofa before sitting down.

After a second of hesitation, the boy sat down opposite him. For a long moment, all they did was watch each other. It was Thor who caved first. He licked his lips and said, “You seem changed.”

A small smile. “I started changing the moment you found me in that wretched alley and brought me here. It scared me shitless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He took a deep breath. “I had some time to think about it, and…my worst fear was always to get swallowed up whole in this whole thing. That I would be replaced by this … ghost. Wiped out. Gone. But ...” He searched for Thor’s gaze and held it. “If I asked you a question, would you answer it honestly, even if you didn’t like it?”

Thor nodded. “You know I would.”

His chuckle wasn’t entirely mirthless. “Indeed, I do. So… Did you think I was him, back when we first met?”

Thor raked his hand through his hair. “I thought you might be, yes.”

“And now? What do you think now?”

There was something hopeful in the boy’s eyes. Something fragile that could be torn into shreds with just one ill-chosen word. And, oh, how Thor wanted to carve out a space inside his chest, so he could tuck this sentiment inside and keep it protected and safe.

“I still think you might be,” he said eventually. “And that it doesn’t really matter. Because you are you, and that’s all I ever want you to be.”

The boy’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and his voice trembled slightly, when he said, “There’s one thing you need to know: I want to stay here with you, but … I can’t be second best.”

The words ‘not again’ hung in the air between them, heavy as thunderclouds.

Thor rose from his seat and crossed the short distance to where the boy sat, before squatting down in front of him.

He took the boy’s hand. “You never told me your name.”

“You never asked.”

“I’m asking you now,” Thor said.

Loki’s voice was but a breathless whisper. “You know my name.”

He had mourned the loss of his brother more times than he could count. He, too, had thought his brother dead before. But he had returned to him without fail, until it seemed as if death simply could not touch him.

Now he thought that, maybe, just maybe, it really couldn’t. Maybe the only wounds that would ever stay with them were those they gave to one another.

Thor was no fool. He couldn’t promise Loki some kind of happily ever after. They would fight. And they would do so viciously. To live peacefully side by side just wasn’t in their nature.

But this one thing he could give to him without a second thought.

“Doubt me in everything, but do not doubt me in this. I’ll be by your side for as long as you will have me.” He reached out slowly and put a hand around the back of Loki’s neck, pulling him closer. “In any way you will have me.”

Their lips were almost touching, and he could feel his brother’s warm breath on his face.

“How about forever,” he all but breathed. “And like this?”

Loki’s mouth was as cool as he remembered it to be, but his kiss chased away every semblance of cold still residing in Thor’s bones, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.

Asgard is not a place, his father had once told them, it’s a people. But Asgard was no more. His people were no more. And still this kiss was very much like coming home. Because home, to Thor, was neither a place nor a people.

It was a person.

And this person was right here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> there - my first take at writing Thorki. Hope you enjoyed <3 Leave a comment and make my day :)


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